A Difference
by The Reading Maid
Summary: Rich and Poor. Happy and Sad. Life and Death. Everything, nothing. While one sits in a palace, the other sits in the mud. Who knew such similar girls would turn out so different.
1. Chapter 1

I do not own Naruto.

A Difference

Her delicate, silken slippers shuffled slightly on the marble floor of the hall, her matching skirts ruffled and _shushed_ as she walked. A cloud of sweet smelling air drifted behind her, scented of sweet pea. Her pale, smooth hands were gently laced together inside the bell sleeves of her robes and her pale, beautiful face was held high. Half of her long, long, pink locks flowed freely down her back to her waist, while the other half was piled in an ornate bun on top of her head. Her emerald eyes sparkled.

In the relaxed stroll of a rich woman who has all the time in the world, the Lady padded down the long, tall, open hall of her husband's palace. Her diminutive form was almost lost in the vastness of the building; she was but a tiny, colorful speck in a colossus of white marble. And yet she continued on at her own pace, basking in the comfort of her position.

* * *

Her whole body was drenched in sweat as she ran as fast as she could through the dark, treacherous trees of the forest. Her blue ninja sandals made a loud slapping noise each time her powerful steps landed on a branch. Then her muscular legs would flex as she pushed off, soaring towards the next step. Her dark traveling clothes were dirt stained and torn after having spent several days on the same body without being washed. The long, blond hair, somewhat secured in a high ponytail, was knotted and tangled, leaves and twigs sticking out at odd angles. Her blue eyes were dull.

In the frantic pace of a woman who has no time at all, the woman sprinted through the endless stretch of wood, leaves, and darkness of this familiar forest. Her small form was almost lost in the vastness of the woodland and how far she had yet to go; she was but a dark speck in a darker wood. And yet she pushed herself harder, determined to overcome of the hopelessness of her situation.

* * *

Once the Lady neared the end of the hall, the two serving boys, both wearing matching silken uniforms, pushed open the huge, glossy stone doors that led out onto the terrace. Without breaking her pace, without turning her head to the boys, the woman walked outside to a clear and beautiful evening sky. She paused to admire its majesty.

* * *

After an eternity, the woman reached the end of the wood. Right before the trees ceased, she saw a pair of dead bodies lying haphazardly near the base of a tree. Both appeared as worn and tired as she did, but unlike her, they were not breathing. Flashing past them without breaking her pace, the woman burst out of the trees into a humid and darkening evening sky, thunderclouds rolling in even as she gazed. She did not pause to ponder these ominous signs.

* * *

While staring out at the breath-taking view visible from her palace, the Lady was distracted by a series of shrill, happy cries calling her name. Turning, her sparkling eyes were rewarded the sight of three, stunning children hurrying towards her, arms outstretched and faces overflowing with joy, as they did every time they were graced with the sight of their mother. The woman turned and received each of her children's greetings with a light hug and kiss of her own and then, holding hands, all four of them walked over to the large bench on which the children had been sitting prior to their mother's entrance. The woman positioned herself in front of the bench and, arranging her skirts so that they would not wrinkle, gracefully sank onto its smooth surface.

* * *

As the woman stumbled to a halt, gasping for breath, three very familiar voices shrieked and cried her name. Whipping about, she saw the pale, exhausted, dirty faces of her three children rushing towards her, each one the picture of heartbreak. The woman did not wait for them but instead ran to meet them and all four collided. The children clung to their mother and their mother clung to her children. Tears poured from every eye. After two weeks of being kept from her children, the woman would have been content to keep them in her arms forever. But the woman could not rest until she saw a fourth being. Turning to meet the eyes of her son, the woman silently asked him a question. The boy, who was acting a man but looking a boy the last time she had seen him, now looked the child but acted the man and gently took her hand. He led her to a dark shape on the ground. With a heart-wrenching cry, the woman fell to her knees, grinding her dirty legs into blood-dampened earth and not noticing at all.

* * *

After the Lady was settled, her children arranged themselves around her, careful of their own attire and their mother's. The smallest, a girl just leaving behind her toddler years and who had the beauty of her mother, curled up carefully in her mother's lap, looping her small arms around the woman's neck. The oldest, a beautiful girl who was just now unfolding the last petals of the flower of womanhood, settled next to her mother, holding gently onto her arm and leaning into the soft, silky shoulder. The middle child, a boy of an age closer to the older girl than the younger one, stood before them, waiting to take his position until the final member of their family arrived.

The huge doors slowly opening, followed by a small fanfare of horns, told them that he had arrived.

* * *

After the woman had flung herself onto the dusty ground, her children fell around her. The youngest, a girl who, despite her young age, had now seen things that would haunt the minds of those far her elder, put her head in her mother's lap, clutching desperately onto a hand that lay, unmoving, in the dirt. The older girl, the same age as the boy, positioned herself at the head of the stationary thing in the dirt, the grime and weariness of recent events making her look not like a young woman finding her own, but someone who had seen too much of the hard things in life. The boy hesitated, then settled opposite his mother on the other side of the man on the ground. The woman called for the final member of their family, desperate for him to come.

The pale, unmoving face and the still, blood-drenched chest told them that it was too late; he was already gone.

* * *

The Lord walked purposefully forward with the confidence of a man who had everything in the world to be envious of, and who knew it. His glossy, dark hair shone in the light of the setting sun and his bright, ruby-colored eyes twinkled. His wife and children showed signs of joy at his appearance and beckoned for him to join them. Dismissing his followers with a flick of the wrist, he joined his family on the bench. Wrapping one arm around his wife and the other around his son, who sat down next to him, he sighed a contented sigh. Now he had everything.

* * *

The father lay dead on the ground in the position of a man who had tried his best to protect what he loved most of the world, and who had succeeded. His dark hair had been freed from its usual tie and provided a dark, dirty pillow for his head. The dust that had gathered in it made him look much older than he really was. In life, his dark eyes had always had a knowledgeable sparkle about them, especially when around the four who knelt around him now. Now, in death, they stared blank and empty up at the cloudy sky, not seeing those non-living objects that had been his constant companions and source of joy for his whole life. The last breath that had left his dying body, impaired by the many injuries to his chest, had been short and painful, yet satisfied. For a period in his life, he had had everything. Everything was still there, but it was no longer his to have.

* * *

As the family watched the sunset, the youngest daughter shared with her family how she had learned to write her whole name in the fancy, difficult script that was so popular among those of the upper class these days. The son recounted his latest hunting adventure primarily to his father, including his impressive final count of having brought down eleven birds, eight rabbits, and two deer. When asked about his weapons training, the boy reported, in the words of his master, that he could face anything that came his way. The eldest daughter told her mother about the handsome suitor that had come to call that afternoon. Her father was impressed by his wealth and good status, while her mother was pleased with the good looks and chivalrous character the girl described. The mother shared with her family the designs of several dresses she was having made, and some of the latest gossip she had learned from a luncheon with her ladies. The father told how he had successfully forced a smaller, neighboring kingdom into giving the father lordship over their lands, including a valuable ocean port and some mineral-rich mountains.

They all agreed that it had been a wonderful day.

* * *

As the sky overhead rumbled ominously and the mother stared at the dead face of her husband in a way that made them question the possibility of the sun rising, none of the children spoke. The youngest did not speak about the terror she had endured during her captivity, about how scared she was for herself and the lives of her siblings. The boy did not tell his mother that he had killed his first man today, in order to save the life of his twin. The eldest girl did not speak about the man who had tried to take advantage of her, about how angry and afraid she had been, or about the overwhelming sense of relief she had felt when her brother killed the man. She did not mention the guilt she felt for having been the cause for his loss of innocence. What they did tell their mother had only to do with the story of their father.

After finally learning the location of the slave traders who had taken his children, their father and his squad had immediately set out after them. Their father had sent back an urgent message to tell his wife, who had instantly left their village and pursued after them. Their father was closer to his children than he realized and soon the kidnappers and rescuers were in fierce combat. Their father's group was out-numbered three to one, but each one fought so fiercely that the difference hardly showed. Leaving the normal traders to his men, their father had engaged the leader, the man responsible for the two weeks of hell his family had gone through. The man played dirty and continuously called in his own men to fight the father, who defeated them every time. Their father was one of the greatest warriors in their village, but, sadly, even the best do not last forever. Their father began to tire and when his weariness finally showed, after getting a wound from a grunt, the leader went in. The woman's husband had fought like a true hero, each of the children said, for they had seen the whole battle from where they were being held along with the rest of the slaves. They cheered their father on and for a while, it looked as though he were winning. Then, at a signal from the slave leader, ten of the normal slave traders had taken out cross bows and shot, mortally wounding the father right before the children's eyes.

At that exact moment in time, reinforcements arrived and quickly wiped out the rest of the traders, even though it took three to finish off the leader. The children were released and they rushed to their dying father. So happy to see them was he that he cried, for the first time since the children had gone missing. He also smiled. He told them he loved them, and their mother, and that she should be arriving shortly to take them back to the village. He made them promise to look after each other, and their mother, and the children had sworn on their very lives, tears pouring down each face. A few minutes before their mother got there, he passed.

The sky opened up above them and rain spurted down from the heavens, completing for the family the image of the worst day of their lives.

* * *

There were once two young girls. Becoming friends when they were just young children, they were inseparable for years, until an argument over a boy tore them apart.

Years later, one of the girls married the boy they had fought over, who had risen through the world and was heading for the top. The second girl married a boy who, although never as successful as the other girl's husband, completed her in a way that no one else ever could.

And so, both were happy. They both became pregnant with child. The first bore a beautiful baby girl, more stunning than any other. The second brought forth twins, a boy and girl, a pair that completed each other in almost the same way as their mother and father. The first's husband continued to rise in the world, bringing his wife and child with him. Soon his wife brought forth a son, and the man was very glad. The second and her husband, no better off than anyone else, settled into a life of chaotic normality. And they were both very glad. Then both women became pregnant again and both brought forth beautiful baby girls, completing their family pictures.

Now, years later, the first has been brought to the very top. She lives in a palace, has three stunning children, and a husband who has turned the world upside down. She lives from day to day, year to year, thinking of nothing but her own happiness and good fortune. Life can get no better for her.

Now, years later, the second is different. She lives in a normal house. Her children are each unique and different from any other. She lives from day to day, hour to hour, trying to fill the gaping hole in the hearts of her children and thinking of nothing but the empty place in her own. And her husband, the man who changed _her_ entire world upside down, is dead.

While one sits in a palace, the other lies in a muddy field. One has laughing children, the others are sobbing. One has her head resting lovingly on her husband's shoulder; the other has lowered her head onto the bloody, cold chest of the husband that she loved with her whole heart.

When the second gave the first her hair ribbon oh so long ago, who would have known things would turn out like this.

Not them.

* * *

Thank you for reading, and for author's comments, (which I advise you read) please see the following chapter.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Notes:

I felt that it would have ruined the emotion at the end of the story to have my really long and rambl-ish author note at the end, so I decided to give people a chance to react, then read what I had to say.

If any story that I have ever written was not expected, this one wins the prize. At approximately 9:30 P.M. on the night of January 14, 2008, I was sitting in bed writing something else entirely, contemplating going to bed in the near future. Then I had the urge to write a bit about a rich woman wearing silk and stuff and walking down a marble hallway. (I randomly get urges to write little things like that, and then usually end up deleting them afterward.) So then while I'm writing the first paragraph, I get struck with the idea to compare two different women. Then, wala, you get a Ino Sakura story, even though I never called either one of them that by name. So then, I just keep writing. And writing. And writing. And then, at approximately 12:15 A.M., I have before me a five and a half page tragedy where my first love of the anime world is lying dead on the ground with his sobbing family around him and his wife's best friend's family is all happy and in lala land in a palace somewhere far, far away.

I was kind of surprised.

This story is something very different for me. I've never really written anything like this, let alone posted it for the public to see.

So I really, really, REALLY want to know if it was okay or not. If you thought it was garbage, just come forth and say it. I won't get mad or offended or report you. I will probably give you an Internet hug. I would really like some constructive criticism, seeing as no one really likes to give me any in my other stories.

Um…let's see. Oh. The children in this story, who are indeed Yuri, Asuma, Rose and Sari, Sammy, and Shuri, are in no way connected to the six children in the Babes stories. I didn't want to ruin my image of each family, so I used the same child-layout. Although, it has got me contemplating whether or not I want to use some ideas from this in the other story…but that can wait. I've got more things I need to do.

Oh yeah. ToastWeasl and darktank, in case you read this, this was not the one-shot I was talking to you about, obviously.

I can't think of anything else to say, but if I do I will add it here. Thank you all for reading this author's note and for reading the story. It really makes me happy.

-The Reading Maid


End file.
